


Static Eyes

by theteaotter



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF, Madeon | Hugo Leclercq/Porter Robinson - Fandom
Genre: Hugo is having a great time, M/M, Porter is a great bro, The sex pollen fic that wasn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theteaotter/pseuds/theteaotter
Summary: Porter and Hugo are at an afterparty and Hugo gets sprayed with some weird bubbles.





	Static Eyes

Porter and Hugo are at the After-party.

The club is dark, punctuated by laser lights and a heavy bass line. The whole place smells in the way that a building with no windows does.

Hugo is entertaining the hands that shoot out from everywhere, congratulating them on a great set. Hugo looks good, they both do, freshly changed and glowing from the set. 

Porter is just trying to get to the bar. The place is too warm with bodies and he just wants a beer. 

There’s finally a break in the crowd. Porter guides Hugo with his hand, and surges forward.

A girl roller skates by, cutting him off.

“Excuse me,” Porter tries to get his voice above the pounding bass.

She sucks long and hard on a small lollipop, and aims a bubble ray gun at Hugo.

Hugo laughs as she showers him in bubbles and skates away. 

Porter heaves a sigh that is maybe a little over-dramatic, and tugs Hugo along toward the bar. He really wants a damn beer.

Five minutes and $18 later, he has two beers in his hands, dark to match the mood he feels. He turns away from the bar to Hugo.

Who is drenched in sweat.

“Hey man, are you ok?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together.

Hugo blinks his eyes rapidly and Porter thinks he might pass out. 

“I feel weird, hot, weird. I don’t know, étrange.” He smiles lopsidedly at Porter, something beautiful, and a little sinful. 

Porter’s hands are getting wet from the beers in his hands.

Hugo’s shirt is stained with sweat around the neck. Porter can see where the grey material clings to his chest and stomach. His jacket hangs, deflated, off of his thin shoulders.

Something isn’t right. Hugo is acting weird, but Porter hasn’t left his side all night. 

Hugo sways a little to the music. Just a small movement, but Porter wants to grab his shirt sleeve. Something to tether him, like a balloon on a breezy day. But he’s holding both beers and has nowhere to put them. 

“Uh, do you want a beer?”

Hugo nods his head too many times and accepts his glass with both hands. Careful, like he’s accepting the eucharist.

“Did you drink anything tonight?” Porter asks.

Hugo shakes his head no, thoughtful behind his beer.

“Did you take anything? Eat anything from a fan?”

He tosses his head a little harder. 

“I probably should have had more water, but no.” 

Porter takes a long pull from his drink, a tiny drop from his glass escapes and runs down the column of his throat. God, he can’t go anywhere without spilling something.

He brings his head back down, and Hugo is openly staring at him. His eyes are wide and his swaying has increased tempo. His beer is clenched in white knuckled hands. Porter stares back, waiting for him to say something. Music becoming white noise against his heartbeat.

Hugo’s lips and cheeks glitter with too much moisture. He tips his head back and swallows his beer down in one continuous gulp. He wobbly places the glass down next to his feet and smiles again at Porter.

“What’s up?” Porter eyes him suspiciously.

“Nothing, I feel, like amazing. Volant.”

Hugo reaches out with his hand, and usually by now Porter has averted his eyes and backed away, but it’s Hugo, so he holds as still as he can. 

Hugo runs the tips of his fingers over the pale column of Porter’s throat, bumping over his Adam’s Apple, and rubbing at where sweat is collecting in his hollow.

“You’re like, all made of pixels? But also, like fish scales? You’re incredibly beautiful.”

“What?” Porter squints his eyes, as if it would help him understand what Hugo is talking about.

“There is a light in the back of your mouth”

“Uh.”

Hugo starts running his hands over his body. At first it was just his chest, but then he’s kneading his sides and fluttering his fingers over his groin and thighs. He starts dancing in earnest to the oppressive bass beat.

Porter is rooted, within arms reach.

“Why does everything feel so amazing?”

Dread and realization dawn on him as Hugo takes his ever present hat off and shakes his hair free. Sweat races down the back of Porter’s neck.

The girl on skates. The bubble gun. She got him right in the face with it.

Porter bends down to place his unfinished glass next to his feet. Hugo watches his every move and drags his fingers over his thighs. 

“I need to get you out of here.”

Hugo lights up, eyes glassy and dark even in the club's glow.

“Mon Dieu Porter, are you trying to take me home?” 

Porter’s eyebrows jump toward his hairline. He’s suddenly grateful his hands are empty because his fingers are numb.

How was he supposed to react to that? Hugo’s question is exactly what echos through his mind late at night, when he can’t stop himself. Hugo is his friend, his inspiration, and a fixation for Porter since they met. Musically, he was his rival and his muse. There were long nights spent waiting for Hugo’s smile to light up his monitor.

Porter worships him, and he’s not about to let this ruin what they have.

Still, what an easy way to get him back to the hotel. Flirting doesn’t hurt, and it’s not like they haven’t done that before.

“Yes,” says Porter before he can think of something else to say.

Hugo’s eyelids drop into a heady assessment of Porter.

Porter tries to hold still as Hugo twists his hands in the air this way and that. They trace imaginary runes in front of Porter’s eyes, before pressing against his chest. The sheen on Hugo’s face flashes blue and purple in the lights.

Hugo’s fingers ghost over the planes of his chest and tangle in the hair at his neck. He stands too close and Porter is trying to breathe, but Hugo pushed himself along his body, perfectly in line, and taking up every ounce of his space.

Hugo breathes hotly against his ear, and Porter can smell his sweat mixing with his cologne.

“Ok,” Hugo says with a tenderness that’s out of place considering where they are. 

Hugo steps back and his hand slips away.

“Wow, ok,” Porter says and reaches for Hugo’s shirt sleeve. Hugo entwines their fingers instead.

“Wow, Jesus, ok,” Porter grips his hand and tries to memorize Hugo’s bony knuckles. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Music crashes back into Porter’s senses, like someone just turned the volume all the way up. It’s unbearable. He keeps a firm grasp on Hugo’s hand as he slowly pushes his way through the crowd toward the door.

They’re almost there when Hugo stops following and the link between them grows tight. Porter looks back and Hugo is bathed in magenta and violet. His mouth is tilted upwards, his long curls falling around his shoulders, he is smiling and laughing. 

The same congratulatory hands from earlier are snaking out from the darkness. Now some are running down Hugo’s sides, and through his hair.

Something heavy and dark surges from Porter’s chest. Protective, possessive, dangerous.

“No, no one can touch. I only want you to touch. No one else.” Hugo babbles from the black hole swallowing him. “They’re scaring me.”

Porter pulls harder on Hugo’s hand, dislodging him from the mass. Hugo crashes into his chest.

“Mine,” Porter snarls back at the tangle of bodies and lights.

Porter slams the door open with more force than he probably needed. His is gulping down air and this weird, invasive sense of possessiveness.

Hugo is twirling himself around on the other end of his hand. His smile is still on the manic side, but it’s devastating just the same.

“Hmmm it’s so nice out, Se détendre, je vous adore.”

Porter needs to learn more French. He makes a vow to his Doc Martens, crunching grime and glitter below him.

His shoulders release from up near his ears. Outside, he can still hear the bass thumping and he wants to get away from it immediately. Hugo is still dancing and smiling. The heat is evaporating off of his body in translucent tendrils.

Porter is starting to feel overwhelmed. So far Hugo seems to be ok, just feeling really good. He has no idea what was in the bubbles or how long it will last. He doesn’t even know where to buy weed--this is insane. 

Porter keeps twirling Hugo as he calls Ben, his lighting guy, with the other hand. 

“Porter,” comes a sleepy voice on the other end. Porter forgot to check what time it is.

“Ben, Hugo got hit with some kind of drug in bubble solution.”

“Wow,” Ben says from the other end.

“I know, what do I do?” Hugo has stopped twirling and is petting Porter’s arm like it’s a cat.

“Get him back to the hotel. How much solution?”

“Not much, just a couple bubbles. He’s acting like he’s very drunk, and he’s sweating a lot.”

“Is he you know,” Ben falls silent on the other line for a tense second or two. “Um, is he really like, you know--”

“Ben, what?” Porter says irritably, and notices Hugo is trying and failing to take his shirt off. “Hugo--no!”

“What’s he doing?”

“Trying to take his clothes off.”

“Yeah, ok. I know what he took, he’s fine. Get him back to hotel, he just has to sit it out. It’ll be maybe another three hours or so, but it’s a pretty short high, and the amount seems safe. Just make sure to get back here when you can. He’s going to want to take off more than that.”

“What?”

Ben laughs and hangs up.

Hugo is still trying to get his shirt up over his shoulders. He’s kind of flapping around, his abdomen writhing in his struggle.

“Ok,” Porter says and pulls the hem of Hugo’s back down. His knuckles bump against Hugo’s ribcage. He’s slick with sweat, and the smooth slide does something beautiful and horrible to Porter’s stomach. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

Hugo is a couple of inches taller than he is,and ducks his head to kiss the tip of his nose. Porter can feel his eyebrows arch up, his flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears.

Hugo is giggling airily like wind chimes. 

Porter starts walking down the sidewalk toward the hotel. It’s not even five blocks away, it should take no time, but Hugo is pirouetting around him as they go. 

“How do you feel?”

“I can hear the birds so clearly. La ville chante, I only want to be with you forever. Everything is so colorful, it’s dazzling.” 

Porter laughs, and almost wishes he was the one who got blasted in the face. 

“Well, you seem to be having fun.”

Halfway there, Hugo lands on his right foot wrong and topples over in front of Porter. Porter manages to catch himself on his hands and knees above Hugo. Hugo is sprawled face down on the the concrete. His laughter flutters his shoulders like wings. 

Hugo turns his face to look over his shoulder at Porter. “Vous êtes comme Dieu au-dessus de moi,” he says lowly.

“C’mon, let’s get you back.” Porter pushes himself up and offers his hand to Hugo. Glass and grit dig into his grip.

“No, I don’t want to walk anymore.”

Porter stands over Hugo’s prone body and remembers all the times he was too drunk to stumble home. A police car is creeping down the street. He turns around, bending at his knees a little despite already being shorter than Hugo.

“Ok, climb on.” He offers, and hopes that Hugo will get up before the police see them.

Hugo clambers from the ground, off-balance and wobbly. He clumsily hoists himself up on Porter’s back. His fingers interlace around Porter’s chest and he can feel how warm Hugo is against his back. He’s practically weightless. 

Porter thinks about his mother’s cooking and how Hugo would probably like it. 

“So this is how you feel between my thighs,” Hugo whispers against his ear and Porter almost drops him. He’s so embarrassed he can’t think straight. He can’t tell who’s sweat is sticking to his back. The police car rolls down the street without incident.

He makes it back to the hotel in one piece. He is kind of proud of his knees for holding out. 

Thick glass doors and polished marble act as a portal away from the bustle of the city.  
They drift together behind him, his footsteps echoing big and ominous against the lobby walls. Hugo’s jeans are sliding against his. His tinnitus is killing him.

A bellboy gives a mock salute and presses the arrow going up for him. Porter huffs a small laugh and Hugo blows raspberries against his neck as the doors open. The elevator thunks under their joined weight, as polished mirrors close in front of him.

Porter is face to face with his present state. Flushed from his head to his toes, he is not in much better shape than Hugo, who is breathing little puffs of air against his neck. 

“Porter you smell so good,” he murmurs against his hairline. “Like, really really really good.”

Thoughts like “I’m gonna die,” and “Why is this happening to me?” roll around inside Porter’s head. Hugo continues to sniff at him. 

“Thank you,” he says instead and shifts Hugo’s weight up a little higher. He smiles sincerely at Hugo’s reflection in the doors. Hugo smiles back, delirious but shy, and thumps his head down onto Porter’s shoulder. 

The elevator dings blandly and Porter shimmies Hugo up his back. He can feel Hugo’s hardness against his back, and he is only one man for crying out loud. 

“Hang on, we’re almost there,” He says. Hugo whimpers against his shoulder and nods. Porter’s t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He thinks about taking a shower, but is afraid to leave Hugo alone.

Porter searches down the hallway for their room number. Once he finds it, he delicately places Hugo back down on the ground, much to his protest. Porter fumbles for the room key and slides it through the magnetic lock. Everything feels like it’s too much. It’s too humid, the lock is too loud, his hair is too sticky around his ears.

He licks his lips and pushes the door open to the cool interior of the hotel room.

Hugo slides around him, in between his arm and the doorjamb. He leaves the lights off, and Porter clicks the door shut behind him. Hugo opens the window curtains as wide as they can go and looks down on the city.

“What a lovely carnival! Porter, I didn’t know you were in the circus!” 

Porter laughs at that. The analogy is not lost on him, and he’s relieved to be in the safety of the hotel room for tonight. He looks at his watch, two hours to go.

“Yeah we played and sang and danced all night at the carnival, don’t you remember?” Porter asks.

“Nope!” Hugo laughs and then turns to look back at Porter in the darkness. He doesn’t even know if Hugo can see him.

Moonlight is pouring in from the window and draping itself over Hugo. It’s decedent. Hugo notices the pale glow and starts running his hands up and down his arms, across his neck and mouth. 

Porter flushes red in the darkness and thinks he might have an aneurysm before the end of the night. 

“It tastes like vanilla ice cream Porter, come try,” Hugo says licking between his fingers.

Porter’s mouth is dry. He is fixated on Hugo’s tongue darting at his palm, up and over his knuckles to suck on his fingertips. He's frozen, cloaked in darkness. 

Hugo hooks his fingers in the seams of his shirt and pulls it off roughly. He is as pure as snow, his dark curls twisting and writhing against his neck.

He turns to the side to gaze at the city below.

“The city is too warm, it looks like a thousand stars,” and Hugo unbuttons his jeans. “It feels like I’m burning up. I love it, I love it, I love it,” He mumbles and peels them down his legs. He kicks them off in one fluid movement and Porter is panicking. 

Why was he in the dark? Why isn’t he turning on a light?

Hugo starts palming himself through his boxers.

“Wait wait wait wait,” Porter fumbles for the switch on the wall and the room fills up with soft yellow lighting from the bedside table. 

“Oh Porter,” Hugo says and drops his hands to his sides. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I’ve been here the whole time!” Porter really can’t take this anymore. He knows Hugo can’t help it, but Jesus _Christ_.

Hugo walks--slinks away from the window, his hips swaying as he approaches Porter. Before Porter can react, Hugo clasps his face in his hands and kisses him.

Porter feels weak. He feels weird, he feels awesome. The feeling of _finally_ washes over him in gentle lapping waves. But it’s wrong--kissing Hugo is right now is wrong.

Hugo is the one to pull away.

“You taste like peaches, or maybe mandarin oranges?”

Porter touches his lips with his fingers. They’re still warm from Hugo. 

“Hugo, “ he starts, “I can’t do this.”

Hugo’s face falls. His eyes shimmer gold in the bedside lamp.

“I thought you wanted to take me home.”

Porter knows he needs to recover, and quickly.

“I did--I do. Listen, someone gave you some kind of drug. I don’t want to hurt you Hugo. I care about you way too much.” A small glimmer of hope flashes across Hugo’s glassy eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I liked it very much.”

Small, exact sentences. Porter needs to make sure that Hugo understands that this is not rejection, but he absolutely can’t let this happen when Hugo’s high.

Hugo hesitates, the tears in his eyes still threatening to spill over. “You liked it?” He asks.  
“Of course I did,” Porter says. He breathes a sigh out. He may as well be honest. “I liked it very much and I want to kiss you so much more, but listen. If you go to bed now, I promise to kiss you for the rest of my life.”

“I want to kiss now.” Hugo says petulantly and closes the gap between their bodies.

Porter takes a step back and covers his face with his hands. Anything to try to get his head clear.

“Please Hugo, go to bed.” Porter moans between his fingers. He’s not sure how much more he can take. “If you’re good and you go to bed, I’ll jump in there with you.”

Hugo goes very still. “If I’m good,” he trails off. He looks like he’s barely breathing. “Ok,” he says with a strange sobriety. His gaze drifts from the window to the bed. He pads his way to the side of the bed and looks at it suspiciously.

“Is it safe?” He asks in a whisper.

Porter doesn’t actually know the answer. It’s a bed, but it could be anything else to Hugo. To Porter, it’s another confession. In the morning there will be an indentation that he’ll never forget. 

He reaches his hand out and smoothes over the cool expanse of the bed.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s soft and nice and cool.” Porter smiles softly at Hugo. 

“Can you go first?”

Porter lifts the sheets up and crawls in. Hugo is swaying by the end of the bed. Porter’s elbows hurt when he opens his arms for Hugo.

“I’ll catch you, come on.”

Hugo takes a huge breath in, as if he is about to dive into a swimming pool. But he kind of just topples over into bed, and into Porter’s arms. 

Hugo lets out a whoosh of relieved laughter.

“It was so high up! How did you catch me?” Hugo asked.

“You kind of drifted down like a leaf,” Porter says in between soft laughter.

Porter can hear birds singing outside. He looks at his watch where his wrist is draped over Hugo’s shoulder. One more hour.

Hugo’s head is pillowed against his chest, his curls dark and endless. The sunrise is splashing the room with cobalt and rose. His breathing evens out, and Hugo falls asleep.

Porter rubs small circles into his back, tracing protective sigils and poetic words. He writes I love you in slow, soft cursive. 

He’s memorizing the tidal sounds of Hugo’s breath rushing in and out of his lungs, until finally sleep overcomes him as well.

~*~

When Porter wakes up, Hugo is sitting on the side of the bed, facing the morning sun. They forgot to close the curtains before falling asleep.

“Hey,” Porter says softly, everything about this moment is warm and fragile, like a heartbeat. He props himself up on his left elbow and tries to sound as casual as he can. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Porter was hoping to make Hugo laugh with the tale of his circumstance. Hugo ran two hands though his hair instead, and did not turn around.

“I remember your eyes first,” Hugo says into the soft golden light, and Porter mesmerized by the way Hugo’s shoulders are being cradled by the city.

“I remember staying up late, waiting and waiting for you to come online. The first time I ever saw your face on Skype, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I listened to your music, and felt the connection that we have. I’ve never felt this way about anything before, and I’m scared”

“You finally came to France, and all I could concentrate on was sitting in my parents’ bamboo garden with you, and your hair in the sunlight.”

“Some people ask why I have not taken a lover. It’s because I’ve been waiting for you. Maybe my for my whole life.” Hugo wrings his hands and Porter feels like reaching out to hold them.

“Je’taime. I love you Porter, please don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” Porter immediately says. 

“I almost remember everything that happened last night. I was surprised when I woke up in bed with the love of my life.”

Hugo looks over his shoulder back at Porter. “Forgive me if I’ve hurt you.”

Porter wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Instead, he lays back down and raises both arms toward Hugo.

“C’mere,” he says warmly, his voice still gruff with sleep. 

Hugo looks stunned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“C’mon,” Porter says and waves his arms around impatiently.

Hugo falls back into them softly, as if he was afraid of being thrown out of the bed. 

As if Porter would ever let him go now that he has him. 

“I love you Hugo,” he says simply. It’s as clean and fresh as the morning sun against Hugo’s ear. 

“I love you so much, I can’t even tell you.”

Hugo rolls onto his side so he can look at Porter.

“Really?” Hugo asks and his glasses are crooked or his face and his hair is an absolute mess.

“Yes, yes,” Porter says and he’s trying not to laugh, but Hugo looks so silly. He looks like a kid on Christmas, and Porter feels the same way. “God Hugo, je’taime, je’taime--I’ll love you forever.”

Porter leans up and connects their lips, and it’s so perfect in every way. It’s more than he ever imagined. He’s been waiting for this moment his whole life and never even knew it. 

Hugo is the first to break the kiss and looks at him, head tilted slightly to the side “Porter, how did I really end up here?”

Porter laughs and bumps their noses together. Hugo’s curls brush across his forehead.

“Last night, you took me to the carnival.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had Hugo speak a lot of French in this one because I figured that's what he might do as he became more confused.  
> hmu at hear-the-bells on tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
